


Everything That Could Go Wrong, Will Probably Go Wrong

by atheldamn



Series: Romance, and the Museums of the World [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward First Times, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Porn With Plot, Sexual Humor, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3424583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheldamn/pseuds/atheldamn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You’re lucky you’re a fantastic kisser,” Grantaire said as he bumped his nose against Combeferre’s. “Hot grandad nerd…”</p><p>“Grantaire, stop talking.”</p><p>~</p><p>First times together never go smoothly.</p><p>(working title of 'grantaire and combeferre had dumb cute sex')</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything That Could Go Wrong, Will Probably Go Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Reading the first in this series is not necessary, but it is part of a continuous 'plot'.

A little after seven, there was a knock at Combeferre’s door. Grantaire was later than he said he’d be, but Combeferre had grown used to Grantaire’s time keeping being exceptionally sub par since they’d started seeing each other, so this was no different.

He opened the door and was met by Grantaire’s back, wrapped in the now familiar black, tatty coat he claimed kept him warm, and curls of dark hair escaping from under a knitted grey hat. Grantaire turned as he heard the door open, and greeted Combeferre with a wide smile, his hands shoved in his pockets as he shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“You’re late,” Combeferre stated, lifting an eyebrow in an impression of displeasure.

“You want me to go?” Grantaire retorted, pointing a thumb over his shoulder and making to turn to leave again. Combeferre sighed and stood aside so he could come through the door.

Stopping in the threshold, Grantaire pushed himself up onto his tiptoes, a hand on Combeferre’s arm to steady himself, and pressed a kiss to his lips. It was only small and chaste and cold, but it still made Combeferre’s breath catch and his stomach swoop. Grantaire smiled against his lips before pulling away, as if he knew that every kiss was leaving Combeferre wanting increasingly more lately, and shot him a loaded look before stepping into Combeferre’s house and removing his coat.

Their first date had been a few weeks ago, and Combeferre hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. He wanted to know how it felt to curl up with him at night, or to wake with him come morning, how it was to come home and to see him there on the sofa like he belonged. He wanted more with him. And god, was he attractive. Even the way Grantaire moved now seemed to arouse something in Combeferre that hadn’t been aroused in a long time. 

He wanted to sleep with him, there were no two ways about it.

He just didn’t know how to ask.

“Gonna shut that door, or we just gonna stand here all evening?” Grantaire’s voice pulled him from his rather vivid thoughts, back to the cold air washing in from outside. He quickly shut the door, noting Grantaire had removed not only his coat, but his hat, scarf, and boots. He had no idea how long he’d been stood like an idiot, driven to distraction by a simple kiss, but it was long enough to be embarrassing.

“I was going to cook, but-”

Grantaire barked a laugh, unfolding his arms, seeming to relax. Combeferre hadn’t even noticed how tense he looked before.

“You can’t cook,” retorted Grantaire, and Combeferre shrugged as he passed him, moving from the now chilled hallway to the living room.

“No, so I ordered takeaway. I almost ordered pizza, but you can’t eat that, so I got Indian. Yours is the rogan josh.” He wondered if memorising Grantaire’s dietary requirements and preferences was a little weird, but Grantaire simply smiled wider still and nodded, going to take a seat.

“Cheers. Sounds perfect. Lamb, right?” he asked, already leaning forward to spread the cartons over the coffee table and open them up. The fragrant smell of the food instantly amplified tenfold, and Combeferre was reminded how hungry he was. He came to sit beside him, close enough for their knees to brush.

“This one.” Combeferre handed him his food, collecting his own curry and spooning it onto the plate. “How was your day?”

“Awful,” Grantaire said bluntly. “And that’s putting it lightly. I don’t know why I bother. People phone for help and then just refuse to take the advice I give them, like, what is the fucking point? I know I get paid regardless but seriously, the shit I had to put up with today. There was this one woman in particular, god, I wish I had her address, I’d be round there with this fucking fork. Thing is…”

Combeferre let Grantaire vent about his day while he assembled his food and sat back on the sofa. Unfortunately, Grantaire upset led to expressive arm movements, and multiple times, Combeferre watched red flecks of sauce fly from the end of his fork as he forgot to put it in his mouth before gesturing everywhere. He’d assess the damage later, but he was sure his cream sofa had become a casualty of Grantaire’s rage and ire.

It was a good five minutes before Grantaire reached the end of his day, and he turned sideways, slightly pink cheeked, looking incredibly tired.

“But hey, fuck it. I get paid, what do I care if they can’t work their fucking internet? No skin off my back. What about you? Weren’t you at work?”

Combeferre shook his head, swallowing before speaking. “Not today. Fridays are always my day off. I had coffee with Enjolras and Courfeyrac earlier today, then spent the afternoon researching my thesis.”

“Did they… say anything? About us?” Grantaire clarified. They hadn’t told anyone about their relationship yet, mostly because Combeferre wanted it that way - he preferred his private life to be his own until he decided to involve anyone else - but partly because he wasn’t really sure how he would define what they had yet. They were close, Combeferre felt deeply for him, but neither of them had even so much as mentioned making it ‘official’ or ‘serious’. While Combeferre felt like he was caught in some sort of limbo, and longed to clarify them with Grantaire, he didn’t want to push him. Grantaire had been apprehensive enough about involving himself with a friend. Pushing him into something he didn’t want might scare him off altogether, and that was the last thing Combeferre wanted.

“No, nothing.” Grantaire’s shoulders seemed to slump, but then he was nodding and eating, his face neutral, and Combeferre supposed it was nothing.

“Good. No point telling them yet. We haven’t even fucked yet, and y’know what Courfeyrac says.” Combeferre did, but he didn’t care, because Grantaire was looking sideways at him with a questioning look in his eyes, as though he was testing something with Combeferre. He didn’t look away, and that must have answered Grantaire’s question, because then he was exhaling heavily and eyeing him up hungrily before looking away.

The air between them suddenly felt loaded with unanswered questions, a tension between them that Combeferre was desperate to pull at. The desire to reach over, take Grantaire’s plate from him, and push him into the sofa before kissing him stupid was almost overwhelming, but he hesitated. Grantaire continued eating, eyes on whatever rubbish Combeferre had on the telly before he arrived, and Combeferre shook himself mentally. Jumping your ‘whatever’ during food probably wasn’t the best idea to propose sex for the first time.

“Unfortunately, I do,” he said eventually, way too long after Grantaire had stopped talking. Grantaire started, confused for a moment, before he seemed to catch what Combeferre meant.

“Suppose you had to put up with him for years before I did. I don’t pity you,” he teased, setting his half-finished plate down on the table. “Going to the loo. I’ll know if you’ve taken some.” Grantaire gave him a curious look as he left, and Combeferre let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He was in way too deep.

Taking advantage of Grantaire’s absence, Combeferre stole a bite of his food, before standing and finding a film for them to watch. He settled finally on the first Pirates of the Caribbean film, opting for something they’d likely both seen a hundred times before, that they could just have on in the background while they chatted.

“You took some,” Grantaire said as he returned a few minutes later, wiping his hands on his jeans as he sat, an accusatory tone in his voice.

“I did no such thing,” Combeferre lied smoothly, hitting play on the remote and starting the film.

“Liar.” Grantaire knocked his thigh against Combeferre’s, and he resolutely ignored the frisson of heat it sent through him.

They finished eating together in companionable silence, both stopping when they were full. Combeferre would save the leftovers for tomorrow, when he expected Grantaire would return to finish them whether he was invited or not. 

Combeferre barely noticed, until about half an hour into the film, that Grantaire had turned in his seat, so his legs were crossed over his lap, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. Combeferre’s arms had adjusted so they were laying on his shins, and the weight of them across his thighs was surprisingly nice. His fingers toyed with the inseam over his calf, the jeans so tight that it lay directly on the skin. Grantaire would shift his legs occasionally, if something Combeferre did tickled, but otherwise his focus remained on the screen, smiling and laughing as though he hadn’t seen the film a million times, like Combeferre had.

His distraction emboldened Combeferre. He let one had trail downwards, taking his foot, and pressed his fingers into the arch. Grantaire whined quietly, making to pull his foot away, but Combeferre kept hold, and eventually he relaxed.

“This isn’t some kink of yours, is it? Because you’re great, but I ain’t into feet.” Grantaire’s tone was light and teasing, and Combeferre looked sideways to meet an easy grin that still blinded him. He shook his head.

“No. But feet hold a lot of tension. It will feel nice.” Combeferre began pressing his fingers into the points in the sole of Grantaire’s foot to ease the muscles there, and he felt him relax on top of his legs.

“Alright, yeah, carry on,” Grantaire said after a short pause, sounding slightly bemused, but pushing his foot into Combeferre’s hand anyway.

Combeferre was barely focused on the film any more, his attention singularly taken by giving Grantaire a good foot rub. When he’d finished with the first, the took the second one in hand, working between his toes and forcing all the muscles to relax without cramping. He pressed his thumb particularly hard into below his ankle, and Grantaire sighed heavily. Combeferre looked sideways, which was definitely a mistake.

Grantaire was no longer looking at the television, but instead watching Combeferre with hooded eyes, his lips parted and begging to be kissed. Combeferre could resist no longer, surging over and pressing a rough kiss to his lips. It didn’t connect properly, and his glasses pressed uncomfortably into his cheek. It took Combeferre a second to remember himself, and he pulled back, breathing hard already.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me,” he mumbled.

“What? Why did you stop?” Grantaire sounded dazed, and he frowned up at Combeferre, blinking rapidly like he couldn’t focus on his face. “Don’t you want to?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that without asking. You just looked rather… enticing.”

“Dammit, Combeferre.” Grantaire’s hands curled in the front of his jumper and yanked him down, catching his lips in a proper kiss, one with far more coordination. This time, their lips fitted together, slightly parted, and Combeferre held himself up with one arm on the arm above Grantaire’s head, the other resting on his waist.

Grantaire’s hair was so close to his hand, he couldn’t resist sliding his hand into it, expecting a happy sigh or a shiver. What he hadn’t expected was a full, if rather breathy moan, and for Grantaire to jerk back out of the kiss. Combeferre didn’t let go of his hair, though.

“S’sensitive.” Grantaire blushed deeply, clearly embarrassed at his reaction. His eyes were wide and searching, and Combeferre simply leaned down and kissed him again, teasing his teeth against his lip and testing with a small pull. Grantaire moaned again, more restrained this time, and Combeferre smiled against his lips. 

“Don’t apologise. Do you want to… move?” Combeferre asked, moving to kiss down the side of Grantaire’s neck, using the hold on his hair to tilt his head back. He felt him nod eagerly, gasping as he pulled his own hair.

“Please. Yeah. I want to,” Grantaire said, pushing at Combeferre’s chest to get him up. Combeferre relented after a moment more, getting to his feet and stumbling as the sudden rise made his head spin. When he could see again, he looked down at Grantaire, still sprawled on the sofa, his hair messed up and his face pink.

“You’ve never looked so beautiful,” Combeferre said, the words sounding awkward to his own ears. Grantaire huffed a bashful laugh and hid his face behind his hands.

“Fuck,” he cursed silently, and Combeferre took his wrists in his hands, tugging them away from his face.

“It’s true. You do look wonderful.”

“Shut up, you idiot,” Grantaire whined, still grinning as he tried to get out of Combeferre’s hold

“Come on, get up.” He tugged Grantaire’s arms away and coaxed him standing. The smile faded from Grantaire’s face, and he avoided Combeferre’s eye. “What is it?”

“I’m nervous,” Grantaire finally admitted, almost inaudibly, and Combeferre relaxed his hold, one hand brushing hair back from Grantaire’s face.

“You don’t have to be. We don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Grantaire said, interrupting. “I just… don’t want to screw up.” Combeferre smiled, shaking his head.

“You won’t. I’m nervous as well. But it’s just sex. I have been wanting to have sex with you for a long time. I don’t want porn sex. It’s all fake and unrealistic anyway. I want to enjoy myself. I want you,” he insisted.

He didn’t pull Grantaire again, not wanting to push him into something he wasn’t ready for. The conflict was clear on Grantaire’s face, and Combeferre knew better than any of their friends that his self-esteem wasn’t high on the best of days. He was nervous, of course, but Combeferre didn’t suffer the same loathing for himself Grantaire seemed to, and he’d rather not make him do something he was uncomfortable with. It had to be an autonomous decision, Combeferre knew, even if he did personally want to climb into his lap and ride him until they cried.

“Yeah? … Yeah, okay,” Grantaire said after a lengthy pause in which the only sound was the chatter from the film still playing on the television. “Come on.” He grabbed Combeferre’s hand and marched him towards the bedroom determinedly, Combeferre tripping over himself to catch up.

“Hang on- That’s the bathroom,” Combeferre said, as Grantaire pulled open the door and was faced with the toilet.

“Right, try again then,” he muttered back, opening the next door and this time finding Combeferre’s bedroom. Grantaire pulled him through the doorway and shut the door behind them.

They stood for a long moment just looking for each other, both wanting to do something but neither seemingly confident to make the first move. It was Grantaire who broke first, sniggering and rubbing a hand over his face.

“Damn it, Combeferre, we’re grown adults, not teenage virgins, come here. And take that fucking jumper off, god.” He smirked and started pulling the bottom of Combeferre’s jumper up.

“Don’t pull too hard, it’s angora,” he mumbled, taking his glasses off and setting them down on the bedside table. He lifted his arms, crouching slightly to help Grantaire pull the jumper off, and his hands went straight to his hair once they were free, tipping his head back and kissing him thoroughly. The jumper was dropped to the floor with a soft rustle, and Grantaire settled his hands on Combeferre’s waist, tip-toeing and pulling him in. The kiss lingered and neither tried to take control, Combeferre sucking lightly on Grantaire’s lip as Grantaire bit him back.

“Fucking angora, you’re lucky you’re a fantastic kisser,” Grantaire said as he bumped his nose against Combeferre’s. “Hot grandad nerd…”

“Grantaire, stop talking.” Combeferre rather wanted them to be wearing less clothing, instead of stood talking, and he gave him a gentle push towards the bed. Grantaire stumbled, falling back onto the bed, and he scrambled backwards away from the edge. “I’ll be right back. Going to the loo.” Grantaire whined, pouting. “Just a minute.”

Combeferre all but ran to the bathroom, and was as quick as he could be, his heart hammering in his chest at the sight of Grantaire pushing himself backwards on the bed and looking up at him, legs parted, wanting him. He hurried back, also wanting rather a lot to be on top of him, and shut the door before he heard the music.

“Is that Seal?” he asked, an amused smile twisting his lips as he frowned. Grantaire had removed his socks and drawn the curtains, and his phone was on the bedside table.

“I um… Oh god…” Grantaire mumbled, hiding his face in his hands and reaching for his phone, seemingly about to turn it off. Combeferre lunged forward and grabbed his wrist.

“Leave it. It’s fine.” Combeferre knelt on the bed beside him, pushing him back onto the pillow, and started to unbutton his shirt, pushing the buttons through the holes deliberately slowly. Grantaire removed his other hand from his face and looked up at him, his eyes quickly falling to his shirt, watching as Combeferre undressed himself. He got three buttons down before he was stopped.

“Let me…” Grantaire’s hands batted Combeferre’s out of the way and tugged at the top of his shirt, pulling Combeferre down. With a hand holding himself up either side of Grantaire’s head, Combeferre shifted, laying alongside him, and he kissed him slowly. Cold fingers kept brushing his skin as he unbuttoned lower and lower, and each brush made Combeferre shiver and want his hands on him more.

Combeferre moved and slipped one hand under Grantaire’s top. There, his skin was warm, and he was firmer than he looked, thick muscle cording underneath a layer of fat. Grantaire moaned and shifted under his touch, pushing himself against his hand, and Combeferre’s shirt was finally pulled down to his elbows.

“Holy shit…” Grantaire breathed, breaking the kiss. Combeferre started.

“What, what is it?” he said, lifting himself up, worried he’d done something wrong. Grantaire didn’t look uncomfortable, though, his eyes firmly on Combeferre’s right arm. “Oh.”

“You didn’t tell me you had fucking tattoos!” A brightly coloured sleeve ran from his collar to halfway down his forearm, full of intricate dragons and fish and insects. “It’s beautiful.” He traced a yellow dragon with one finger, his gaze full of admiration, and Combeferre swallowed.

“It didn’t come up in conversation,” he replied, shrugging.

“You’re an idiot. Anything else I should know about? Anything outrageous pierced, for example?” Grantaire closed his hand around Combeferre’s arm and waggled his eyebrows up at him, grinning. Combeferre rolled his eyes, smiling back, unable not to.

“No, no more surprises.” He sat back up on his heels, watching Grantaire’s eyes looking over him with obvious hunger. With a little unsexy wriggling, he pulled his shirt off, dropping it over the side of the bed, and he moved to straddle his hips. Grantaire quite obviously whimpered and blushed, his hands instantly going to his thighs, gripping him firmly. “Or at least hopefully only good ones. Sit up. Off.” Combeferre’s hands curled in the bottom of Grantaire’s t shirt and tried to move it up, but Grantaire stopped him.

“No wait, I’m not- You’re- I don’t, I’m not-”

“Grantaire,” Combeferre said quietly, cutting off his babbling. “You’re beautiful. I want to see you.” He let go of his t shirt anyway. “You don’t have to.” His hands stayed around the bottom of his top, fingers slipping underneath the cotton and dancing over his skin. Combeferre knew he was self-conscious, and that this was a pretty big step for them both, so he wasn’t about to push the matter with him. 

As he started to move to kiss him, though, Grantaire stopped him, something resolving in his eyes, and he lifted himself off the bed enough to pull the t shirt over his head in one swift movement, tossing it away. He almost headbutted Combeferre in the process, but thankfully, it was avoided. A bloody nose was not his idea of a fun night.

In all honesty, Combeferre could not understand what Grantaire found unattractive about himself. He was no underwear model, but he was slim, his skin dark and sparsely peppered with soft hairs. Evidence of his physical fitness was still clear, and even the way he moved to take off his top was incredibly appealing. He was littered with tattoos himself - a simple sun and moon, each under one collarbone, a grapevine curling up his side, words Combeferre couldn’t read along his bicep, a small red silhouette of a dove over his heart - and though Combeferre knew he had tattoos, he had not expected them to be quite so beautiful.

“Fuck…” was all Combeferre managed to say, barely eloquent, and Grantaire swatted at his arm, shaking his head but still smiling shyly.

“Shut up. Come here, more kissing and less… looking at me.” Even though Combeferre would be more than happy to continue looking, he was more on board with kissing, and he leant down to do as he was asked, kissing him thoroughly and deeply and until he could think of no more adjectives to describe him, and could feel him rocking his hips up against his arse. Grantaire’s wrists had made their way into Combeferre’s hands, and were pressed to the bed, Grantaire unable to do anything but rock up and swear colourfully against Combeferre’s lips.

The kiss was only broken when a horrific, pained-sounding scream filled the air. Both of them shot apart, Combeferre sitting up far too quickly and losing his vision as his head spun.

“Whassafuck zat?” he mumbled.

“Shit, fucking phone, stupid metal bands!” Grantaire twisted and stretched beneath him, Combeferre unwilling to move, until he could reach his phone and turn it off. The odd screaming noises stopped, leaving the room incredibly quiet. “Sorry.”

There was a moment’s silence, in which the weird noises still seemed to echo in his ear, then Combeferre spat a laugh, unable not to given the stricken expression on Grantaire’s face. Grantaire smirked, holding the phone up so he could turn the damn thing off. Combeferre rested his hands on his stomach and shifted his hips over Grantaire’s cock. Grantaire’s eyes fluttered shut, and he dropped the phone right on his face. He yelped, flinching away too late.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry!” Combeferre took Grantaire’s dazed face in his hands, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

“Fuck,” Grantaire groaned, leaning into his hand and blinking up at him. “That was your fault, hope you know that. I’m not usually so… bumbling…”

Combeferre leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Grantaire seemed to forgive him relatively quickly, stopping his attempts to find the phone and resting his hands on Combeferre’s thighs. Teasingly, he shifted to circle his hips over Grantaire’s, and he felt as well as heard the soft moan the other let out, his own hips shifting to meet him.

Without the music, it was far quieter in the room, and Combeferre could hear every movement Grantaire made against the sheets, every aborted breath, every whine that sounded enough like his name to go straight to his cock and leave him aching in his jeans. Thankfully, his own weren’t too tight, but Grantaire’s seemed impossibly so, and Combeferre could feel his erection through them, pressing behind the zipper. Soon enough, Grantaire broke away from the kiss, breathing hard, lips pink.

“Please, get them off, it’s too much, please, I want you to touch me,” he babbled against Combeferre’s lips, like he had unlocked a boxful of begging that he now couldn’t hold back.

“God, you sound amazing when you beg,” Combeferre told him, moving from his lips to kiss down his neck. Grantaire’s hands finally moved, resting tentatively on his sides before grabbing at him, digging his fingers in and scratching lightly with blunt fingernails. Combeferre’s back arched, shifting against Grantaire’s cock, and he groaned loudly.

“Please… Please, I’m… Fuck…”

Combeferre took pity, reaching down and shuffling backwards, crouched over the other’s knees as he unbuttoned Grantaire’s jeans. One of Grantaire’s hands fell back to the bed, the other pushing through Combeferre’s hair, and he lay with his chest heaving, lip between his teeth as he shifted his hips up into his touch.

“Please…” he repeated, already sounded broken.

“Fuck,” Combeferre replied, tearing his eyes from him to concentrate on getting his jeans off. His hands shook, but he managed to open them enough to get one hand around his cock through his boxers. In one fluid movement, Grantaire arched his back, grabbed the pillow beside his head, and kneed Combeferre in the balls as he shifted into the touch. 

Combeferre crumpled into himself, wheezing, falling sideways onto the bed, knees up to his chest. Dimly, he could hear Grantaire apologising, but his ears were fuzzy and he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the searing pain in his balls. The world narrowed itself down to only his testicles. There were tears in his eyes. He felt as though nothing would ever be okay again, unable to imagine life without such pain. Eventually, he managed a small “ow…”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Combeferre, shit, I’m so sorry, god, I’m fucking everything up,” Grantaire continued, panicked, and Combeferre attempted to groan.

“Shut up, R,” he mumbled, and Grantaire did, falling quiet, his hands on his arms. Combeferre managed to open his eyes, remembering to breath again, and took his hands from between his legs. “Fuck me.”

“Are you okay?” Grantaire sounded utterly distraught, and Combeferre couldn’t help but smile, even if it was still pained. His concern was rather touching.

“It’s like we’re destined not to have sex,” he replied, voice still a touch higher than usual.

“We’re cursed.”

“I never did believe in destiny.”

“No, me neither.”

“Stupid, no idea why I said that.” Grantaire laughed.

“Curses are ridiculous as well, in my opinion.”

“You’ll have to be gentle with me now.”

“You still want-?” Grantaire looked surprised.

“Yes, of course,” Combeferre said, frowning. His erection might have subsided considerably, but he didn’t want Grantaire any less, and he reached a hand up, threading it into Grantaire’s hair and pulling him down for a kiss that started tenderly, but quickly turned heated, Grantaire’s tongue slipping its way past his lips and coaxing Combeferre’s to join.

Grantaire’s hand slid down his side, stopping at his hip like he was waiting for approval. Combeferre nodded without breaking the kiss, and the hand deftly unbuttoned his jeans and took down the zipper. In the quiet room, even that sounded extraordinarily loud, and Combeferre whined softly, pulling Grantaire’s hip closer in an attempt to get him to hurry up.

Breaking the kiss, Grantaire pulled Combeferre’s jeans off with ease, thankfully taking his socks with them, and Combeferre grabbed Grantaire’s in an effort to return the favour. Grantaire seemed unwilling to help, dropping his mouth to Combeferre’s stomach and laying searing kisses along his skin. There was no way Combeferre could pull harder, though, all his strength in trying to get his jeans off - strength that was still being sapped by the slowly receding painful ache between his legs

“Fucking hell Grantaire, get these things off, I will be stopped from having sex with you no longer,” he hissed, giving one last tug before giving up. Grantaire laughed against his skin, causing his stomach muscles to twitch and him to moan quietly.

Grantaire didn’t hang around, though, moving away and standing to wriggle out of his jeans. For a moment, he struggled with trying to keep his boxers on and only take off his jeans. Combeferre watched as he tried - and mostly failed - to pull one down without the other coming as well. 

“Are you planning on keeping those on?” Combeferre asked, voice low, trying to bring seduction back to this whole debacle. He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear, the now-interested-again line of his cock obvious against his plain black boxers.

“Um,” Grantaire replied intelligently, watching with his own hands frozen on his jeans as Combeferre lifted his hips and taking down his boxers as slowly and as sexiliy as he possible could. His cock lay in the dip between thigh and hip, one leg bent up with his foot flat, pulling his boxers off and dropping them in the gap on the bed between the two of them. “Um,” said Grantaire again, an octave higher. Combeferre cleared his throat and, overcome with a sudden burst of confidence, took his cock in his hand and slowly stroked, thumb pressing over the head, moaning lowly, his head falling back and exposing the line of his throat in a way he hoped looked hot.

It must have done, because Grantaire’s clothes were off in a flash, the man hopping awkwardly on the bed, and Combeferre laughed at him stumbling about with arms flailing.

“Don’t laugh at me, I can’t get out!” he whined, flapping about, hips wriggling as he wrestled himself out of madly tight jeans. It took a lot of grunting before they finally relented, and Grantaire was able to peel them off and throw them away triumphantly. Combeferre continued to touch himself, winding Grantaire up, a wide grin on his face, but when he finally fell to his knees, he grabbed at Grantaire with both hands, pulling him in, the smile on his face fading as he kissed him hard. He got a hand on his hip and pulled him flush against him, rocking up against him.

“Oh fuck,” they both said at the same time, and they both laughed breathlessly, Grantaire moving so their cocks pressed together and they could move against each other.

“Like this? Is this okay?” Combeferre asked, head tipping back as Grantaire moved his attention to his neck. His lips were soft, but his stubble rough, and then he sucked, pressure and pain splitting his attention between his neck and the cock currently pressed against his. He moaned.

“Yeah,” Grantaire nodded against his neck. “This is good. Not gonna last long anyway. God, you’re beautiful.” His voice shook, and his teeth dragged over his skin, pulling another desperate noise from Combeferre.

Grantaire continued to rock down against him, but the friction wasn’t in the right place, not where Combeferre needed. He pushed at Grantaire’s hip, trying to get him to lift.

“What is it?” Grantaire groaned.

“Let me… Here…” Combeferre curled his hand around Grantaire’s cock and his own, rocking up into his grip against him. The noise Grantaire let out was broken, his head dropping to the pillow beside Combeferre, and he could feel him shaking over him.

“Lube, first, lube,” Grantaire said against his ear, and Combeferre cursed himself for his oversight, throwing himself sideways and grabbing a tube from the bedside table. He covered his hand, cursing at himself as he dripped it on his own stomach. “Eager?” Grantaire quipped, giggling quietly, but he made up for it by pressing his hand into the drips on his skin and sliding it up, smearing the lube into his skin, and oddly, Combeferre found that incredibly arousing, moaning softly. He dropped the bottle and moved to take them in his hand again, when Grantaire reached a nipple, sliding it between two fingers and pinching slightly. He pushed up into the touch, and Grantaire’s grin grew as Combeferre whimpered pathetically, eyes fluttering shut and lubricated hand hovering uselessly somewhere near them.

Grantaire’s thumb brushed over his nipple, circling once and sending what felt like an electrical surge of arousal down to his already aching - the good type, this time - cock, before he slid it back down to his stomach, and Combeferre managed to stop whimpering and come back to somewhere near his senses.

“Of course I am,” he replied bluntly, the harsh effect of the words ruined by the desperate roughness. He wrapped his hand back around their cocks. That wiped the smile from Grantaire’s face. He moaned again, dropping his face to Combeferre’s neck, and he could feel him breathing heavily and damply against him as he rolled his hips down into Combeferre’s now slick touch.

“Oh god,” Grantaire gasped as Combeferre’s hand squeezed softly, twisting, earning a shiver from both men, and Combeferre could no longer keep quiet, moaning on each breath without being able to stop himself. They fell quickly into a rhythm, moving against each other, and Grantaire’s hands either side of him were gripping the sheets and pulling them as his arms shook. “I’m so… I’m… Combeferre, I’m… Please.” Combeferre took his free hand from Grantaire’s back and bumped it against his wrist. It took him a second to understand what he wanted, but Grantaire lifted his hand, and Combeferre took it in his own, linking their fingers and letting him press their hands into the bed.

“Shh, it’s okay, you can come Grantaire, I’m close as well,” Combeferre told him, more coherent than Grantaire but still feeling a twist in his stomach building and tightening as he pushed up into his fist. Grantaire’s moans in his ear drove him closer, and he heard them raise in pitch until he squeaked and came over Combeferre’s hand and stomach. It was hot and slicked his hand even further, and knowing he made Grantaire come pushed him closer and closer until he came as well, crying out as Grantaire relaxed and kissed tenderly at his neck and collar.

“Beautiful,” Grantaire murmured against his skin, holding himself still as Combeferre shook and gasped, Grantaire squeezing his hand affectionately. That almost wrecked him more than the orgasm. He rocked down against him one last time and drew a last stuttering groan from Combeferre.

“Yes…” was all Combeferre was able to manage, breathless and floating. He pulled his hand from between them and wiped it on Grantaire’s side.

“Hey, what the fuck?! That’s disgusting!”

“You came on me…”

“Fuck you,” Grantaire grumbled affectionately, nuzzling his cheek, then moving to kiss him softly, tongue dragging over his lip, a pleased smile on Combeferre’s lips.

“Maybe another time. Too tired now,” Combeferre mumbled, clean hand stroking through Grantaire’s hair. He pushed his head into his hand like a cat, and it was incredibly endearing.

“You like that?” Grantaire asked.

“Yeah, I do.”

“You’re perfect, what the hell did I ever-”

“Don’t,” Combeferre interrupted, pressing his finger to Grantaire’s lips and stopping him. “Don’t finish that sentence. You don’t need to earn me. I care about you. You are not less worthy than anyone else.” Grantaire smiled softly, and moved to lay beside him, head on his chest.

“Keep telling me that.”

“Whenever you need me to.”

“Don’t move yet, you’re comfortable.”

“We can clean up,” Combeferre proposed, and felt Grantaire smile against his chest. He wrapped his arms around him, and Grantaire snuggled closer. He pulled a blanket over the two of them, unwilling to get the quilt from beneath them, and kissed the top of his head. “Now is naptime.”

“Can we watch Pacific Rim later?” Grantaire asked, voice slurring, like he was already half asleep. It was adorable.

“Of course.” It didn’t take Grantaire long to drop off, his breathing slowing, and Combeferre grinned like a fool at the ceiling, letting himself feel elated. If he wasn’t laying on him, he’d be dancing and jumping around happily. But as it was, he let himself drift off, curled up to his sweaty boyfriend with their come still streaked over his stomach and hand. It was amazing.

**Author's Note:**

> It took me so long to finish this, that I completely forgot what happened in the first half. But it is finally done. Combetaire has become otp already lbh.
> 
> Thankyou for reading this, comments etc all welcome, or I'm on [tumblr](http://switchferre.tumblr.com)!


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